Hallucinations
by rorypondicus
Summary: Sherlock's not sure weather he's hit his head a little too hard or he's high... Hurt!Random!Sherlock with just a dash of Caring!Funny!John...  One-Shot


**Okay so you can blame Tessa for this. She sent this cartoon thing to me on MSN and it was a dancing pig... I thought i was seeing things until i realised i could no longer hear 'Tick Tick Boom' by the hives. Good song. Any way this is the idea that came to mind after I realised that I wasn't seeing things. **

* * *

**Hallucinations**

Sherlock glanced at his hand then back to the wall. This was not very good. Either he was extremely high or he was hit slightly harder than he had expected. He thought about it, unless someone had slipped him something while he wasn't looking, he was clean, had been for months. Ever since Mrs. Hudson had threatened him with eviction or worse getting Lestrade involved... Neither of which he wanted to happen. So he had decided to sober up... There had been the odd sneaky cigarette, but nothing worse than that.

He loooked at his hand again, seemingly not wanting to tear his eyes away from the sight on the walls. What ever that had been. He turned his hand over, feeling how it tingled, how _different_it felt. He didn't like this kind of different though. It felt way too strange. And with that thought he began to hope that John would hurry up.

Sherlock watched the wall again. His eyes moving as if he was actually watching something playing out on the wall. Like it was some sort of movie theatre, his own personal movie playing in his head. Some part of his brain was telling him that it wasn't actually happening. That it was some sort of delusion, or something along those lines.

A sudden gust of wind blew around his bare feet. The downstairs front door opening and closing, signaling to him that John was back. Hopefully with food and a damn shotgun. Even though every ounce of logic in Sherlock's 'Hard-Drive' was screaming at him that it couldn't be true, he stubbornly refused to believe it. That silly, jaunty, almost melodic music was beginning to annoy the hell out of him and he really would make it shut up...

John's foot steps echoed loudly in his ears, and he was beginning to think he really was high. Not that it would suprise him, that bar wasn't waht you would call the best of places to go for drinks. He could almost hear the rustleing of the shopping bags and could predict what was in it. _Milk, bread, eggs, fresh washing up liquid. _Were just some of the things that he could almost picture in the bags. John walked in, looked at where Sherlock was staring and carefully put the bag's down...

"Sherlock, are you alright?" His voice sounded distant, as if Sherlock was under water, distorted.

"Yeah, I would be if that damn pig would stop dancing on the wall..." Sherlock told him. "It really is distracting." He tore his eyes away from the silly animal and caught the Doctor's gaze.

"I think it's time for bed," John said, walking over to the small leather sofa, he placed one arm under Sherlock's and lifted him to his feet.

"I can walk-," He tried to push away, but it was impossible in the ex-army medics grip. So instead he let himself be led to bed. Suddenly really tired. "Thank you John," He muttered as John let him drop rather disgracefully to the bed. John cringed. All the apology Sherlock needed. John quietly exited the small room and the door clicked shut. Sherlock pulled him self up the bed. Before passing out all together...

* * *

_Next Morning... _

Sherlock groaned at the sudden onslaught of light hitting his eyes. He tried to turn away, but his muscles wouldn't work. So he settled for another groan. Eventually, though pins and needles in his right hand woke him up fully. His eyes rolled open and a painful headache washed over in a second. He carefully turned over. This pain wasn't the sort he associated with a hang-over, more slipping-over-on-a-patch-of-ice-and-bashing-your-head-on-a-bollard kind of pain. He put his hand behind his head and felt at the egg growing in size, he hissed as he prodded at it. Ten minutes later, he decided that he had to get out of bed.

He slumped down on the same sofa as John had found him on last night, and he looked at the wall with out thinking about it. Pinned in to the wall was a note. Even though written in John's scruffy hand writing, the joke was there.

_Sorry to disapoint you Sherlock Holmes,  
__But I've gone to terrorize someone else,  
__See You around,  
The Dancing Pig..._

Sherlock couldn't help but laugh.

* * *

**END!**

**R&R **

**Love Elmoxx**


End file.
